


A Glacial Pace

by TheLadyHoll



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Baby, Birth, F/F, Family, Hospitals, Pregnancy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:59:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyHoll/pseuds/TheLadyHoll
Summary: This fic is in response to evilangels 26's prompt at the 4th Annual Poke the Dragon Wake the Muse Comment fic-a-thon over at Livejournal. Prompt: "Umm, I'm still not over Meryl's interview on Ellen, ofc. So, what about a fic with Miranda going into labor and shrieking instructions about the September issue to Andy on the way or something?"





	A Glacial Pace

**A Glacial Pace**

 

It had been on the tenth phone call that Andy had finally picked up her phone as she strode away from the steps of the Hotel de Crillon. For a woman who on most basic principle refused to repeat herself to reach out ten times in the space of ten minutes was enough to give the younger woman pause, angry as she was, at least enough to jab the answer button and begin speaking before Miranda had the chance to cut her down as she was expecting.

“In case it wasn’t obvious, Miranda, I quit, and you can go to hell. I can’t believe you would -”

“Andrea, I’m pregnant.”

There had been a stunned silence on both ends, Andrea’s at hearing the surprising news and Miranda’s at having revealed something so personal to her employee, her assistant, ex-assistant no less if her current claims of having quit were true. But she couldn’t lose Andrea, not now; the younger woman’s sincere offer of support as she had sat, newly dumped and newly pregnant with the child of her soon-to-be ex-husband was all that had allowed her to retain some modicum of dignity and self-control.

“Miranda, you’d better not be kidding,” Andy had growled, still not sure what the editor was playing at with her sudden announcement.

“No! I’m not! My God, I’m not” A sound came over the line that sounded distinctly like a swallowed sob and Andy felt her own heart surge in response to the desolate sound and she cursed herself for it and for what she was about to do.

Dammit, Sachs; she sighed.

“Miranda, where are you?”

“Why? Why do you care?” The thought of losing her husband, useless as he was, her job _and_ her assistant in the span of 24 hours was just too much and Miranda had fled to the relative sanctuary of the VIP bathroom, barricading herself in the marble stall.

“Miranda, please.” Andy didn’t know why she was begging, for God’s sake hadn’t she just walked away from this woman? She should have just thrown her phone into the nearest fountain when she’d had the chance. But now, now she knew what she was going to do, and it involved making her way back through the streets of Paris to talk an overwrought editor out of a luxury bathroom.

Dammit, Sachs…

______________________

 

Miranda had been shocked as she heard the soft knock at the door and a voice she had thought she would never hear again. It was that shock more than anything that prompted her to open the door and let the younger woman in before moving back to lean against the counter, her mind still reeling as it struggled to put together the events of the last 24 hours.

Andrea waited patiently, waiting for the other woman to speak, herself having nothing to say that hadn’t already been said.

Miranda could see the question in the other woman’s eyes as they roved over her body and she shivered, mentally shaking her head clear of the thought that the younger woman could be undressing her with her eyes.

“Eleven weeks along…Andrea, I am fifty-one years old. I can’t be having another baby.”

“What do you want to do?”

Miranda’s hand dropped to her waist, finding the faint but firm swell rising beneath her navel. “I-I can feel it already, but I was in so much denial I, I just wrote it off as stress or emotional eating or God, even menopause, but…it’s there, it’s real.”

“God…I didn’t mean to trap you,” Miranda murmured tiredly, rubbing a hand across her features as she tried to gather her frightfully scattered thoughts. “Truly, Andrea, I just needed you to know. You are free to go, of course.”

Andy sighed, knowing after only a moment’s contemplation what her decision was going to be. And that was a decision she would own, fully. Miranda had given her an out but she found, now, when she had every reason to, she didn’t want it after all. She didn’t want an out, perhaps she never did. Maybe this was the in she hadn’t realized she was looking for.

The first few months had gone by with relative ease, despite the field day the press had as news of Miranda’s divorce and late-in-life pregnancy hit New York almost as soon as they had returned from Paris.

Miranda had been put on strict bed rest for the middle months of her pregnancy, and Andrea had been the go-between for office and home, taking on the role of a more personal assistant as Emily and Nigel oversaw the majority of Runway business.

It had been Andrea who scheduled Miranda’s doctor appointments and accompanied her to the various scans and tests that came as part and parcel of having a baby at Miranda’s age. It had been Andrea who had given the housekeeper explicit instructions on what Miranda could and should eat. Indeed, she had thrown an absolute fit when she had found Miranda trying to sneak sushi into the house under the pretense of a visiting Nigel. The older man had confessed later it had been the only time when he had been more intimidated by the irate brunette than by Miranda. It had taken a LOT of tearful pouting with big, blue eyes and adorably forced-sounding apologies before Andy had forgiven her for that one.

Andrea’s vigilante approach however was mitigated by the tender care and devotion she lavished on Miranda when it was needed. It was Andrea who had all but moved into the townhouse so that Miranda didn’t alert the press by hiring extra help. Andrea who left ginger ale and saltines on a tray outside the bathroom door when morning sickness had set in, and Andrea who cleaned up the still essentially spotless bathroom after Miranda was finished so that Miranda’s own neurotic mind was put at ease.

It was Andrea who had clapped a hand over her mouth, tearing up the first time Miranda showed her the ultrasound photos and prompting her to awkwardly invite the younger woman to accompany her for the subsequent scans. It was Andrea who had called for the ambulance when at 4 months pregnant Miranda had woken in the middle of the night soaked in blood and Andrea who had held her as she’d fallen apart and sobbed in the doctor’s office, thinking she had miscarried and Andrea who had held her, crying with her as she’d sobbed again in relief when the doctor had told her there was still a heartbeat.

Indeed, it was Andrea who had made it so that she could perform her duties at home and could relax, as much as it was possible for her to do so, knowing that Runway was taken care. Andrea whose lips had so sweetly whispered words of love and skimmed across her over sensitive skin; Andrea who had waited so graciously and patiently when the doctor had forbade Miranda from intercourse from the rest of her pregnancy, before they had even had the chance to explore the growing feelings between them.

Instead, it had been Andrea who had known how to soothe every ache and pain, including the ones felt by her girls as they struggled to accept the idea of a new baby, and Andrea who had massaged her swollen, aching feet without complaint after a day of wearing high heels the young woman had warned her against wearing in her condition in the first place. Andrea, it had always been Andrea.

At 8 months pregnant, the doctor had felt comfortable enough with Miranda’s health to allow her to return to work for two days out of the week, wryly agreeing that the physical risk to Miranda would be overridden by the mental toll further inactivity would take. Now with three weeks until her due date, Miranda was extremely and cumbrously pregnant, her nerves and anxieties about her budding relationship with Andrea coming to a boil along with the summer temperatures. That her feelings for the young woman would remain once she had given birth and her advanced dependency on Andrea would ease somewhat she was certain, but she hadn’t the slightest idea how to convey the depth of her gratitude or her desire without it seeming like a further side-effect or hormonally induced mood swing. Lost in her thoughts, Miranda shifted in her chair, longing for the day when she no longer resembled a swollen, veiny balloon animal and called the object of her musings in.

“Andrea…” The regal voice floated out through the open office door.

“Yes, Miranda?”

Miranda’s expression was inscrutable as she looked at Andrea, remaining silent for a long moment until releasing a breath and with it her next flood of instructions.

“I specifically requested the Runway logo to be a jade blue, not peacock blue, or indigo as the last three pathetic attempts have tried to pass off as acceptable. In addition, the caption for the article on Middle Eastern headscarves needs to be moved over from the left a quarter of an inch so it follows the curve of the model’s dress. Also, I’ll need to see the final proofs for the black and white safari feature before the issue goes to press. Call Cara and tell her to be there when the twins get home from school today and to plan on staying overnight with them. Lastly, I need you to take note of the time as I believe I’ve been experiencing contractions for the last hour and they appear to be coming closer together than before.”

"L-labour, you're in LABOUR?"

Miranda grimaced very slightly as she placed a graceful hand on her swollen belly and eyed the panic-stricken woman in front of her who couldn't quite seem to figure out where to place herself on the emotional spectrum.

"Oh my God, okay, this is fine. No really, I'll call Roy".

"Nonsense Andrea, the printing deadline is in an hour & the final changes haven't been submitted yet.”

"Final changes?” Andrea spat. “For God's sake Miranda, you are giving birth as we speak. Who knows if we'll even get there in time and..."

"Andrea" Miranda's usual soft,dry tones gave way slightly and the younger woman stopped her hysterical diatribe long enough to turn around at the change in her boss and would-be lover's voice.

Bright, blue eyes held a tinge of fear now, although her voice had returned to its normal timbre despite a mild breathlessness. But the way both her hands found their way to her stomach and the arch of her back as a growing stain formed on the Donna Karan wrap skirt told a different story.

"Andrea, you may call Roy."

\------------------------------                          

The older woman was taking in small sips of air as she held her belly, her gaze darting frantically from the elevator doors to the mirrored walls to the slender brunette beside her who seemed to be the only thing grounding her at the moment.

All too soon, the elevator chimed its arrival at the first floor. Andy gently slid the Fendi sunglasses over Miranda’s eyes to shield her from the flashes of the press’ cameras and so that they couldn’t capture the fear and panic Andy could read so clearly in the expectant mother’s eyes.

Her coat draped elegantly across her shoulders, and typical sunglasses donned, Miranda was the picture of normality as the shiny bronzed doors opened to reveal the Elias Clarke lobby and the waiting press; but as they opened Miranda froze, nearly imperceptibly to anyone but the woman beside her.

Slipping an arm around the editor, beneath the cover of her jacket, Andy rested her hand on the small of Miranda’s back, leading her forward gently to Roy and the waiting car outside.

As Andrea touched Miranda, the other woman tensed, her body stiffening at the foreign but familiar feel of the brunette’s hands on her body. Andrea thought at first, Miranda’s reaction was discomfort at Andy’s forwardness in touching her without permission or doing so in public, but the tight clenching of the older woman’s muscles beneath the silky fabric of her blouse clued her in to the fact that her actions were the result of another contraction – this one only twelve minutes after the last.

Miranda kept her icy composure until Roy had helped the pair into the car, where Miranda immediately cried out, knowing the Mercedes’ walls were utterly soundproof.

“Oh, oh, OH!” The older woman hunched over at the waist, bent double as she wrestled with the violent spasms of her womb as it contracted harshly and with little warning.

“Ah-Andrea, I need…” she broke off, panting, her face squeezed tightly in a pained grimace as she breathed through the pain.

“What Miranda? What do you need?”

“I n-need you to confirm Meisel for the Dutch tulips shoot,” she managed finally, through tightly pursed lips that expelled tiny bursts of air.

“You’re not serious.” Andy stared at the other woman who had begun to huff and pant in a very un-Miranda-like fashion as her nails indented the leather of the seat.

“Andrea, I am not given to hyperbole at the best of times, least of all when my body is trying to expel a child in the back of a town car heading into midtown traffic. I assure you. I am deathly serious.”

Three contractions later they were still ten minutes out from the hospital and Miranda was growing increasingly uncomfortable in the cramped confines of the backseat.

“Roy, how much longer?” Andrea called to the front of the car, keeping her arms around a moaning Miranda who she had convinced to lay down across the back seat as sitting up had proved to be too much pressure as her labour had progressed.

“Ten minutes, Andy. How’s she doing?”

“Oh God,” Miranda turned her face into Andrea’s thighs, twisting and turning to try and find a comfortable position. “My back,” she groaned.

“The sooner the better, Roy, unless you have an epidural in the glove compartment.”

“I’ll have one put in tomorrow,” the older man called out, neither one knowing if they were truly serious or not.

“Lo-lower, oh God, yes, that’s it. That’s it, don’t stop Andrea! If you stop you are fired!”

Andrea snorted until she noticed the glare she was getting from a labouring Miranda and she dutifully dug her fingers more firmly against the base of the woman’s spine.

“How’s that, sweetheart?”

“Oh…Better, better now.”

\----------

The late morning traffic had thankfully cleared soon after that, and now Miranda sat, exhausted, on the hospital bed as Andy helped her out of the wheelchair once they had arrived at New York Presbyterian’s private birthing suite, blinking up at the younger woman tiredly through the opalescent blur of her bangs that had fallen over her forehead.

“Come on. Let’s get you changed ,” Miranda glared at the offending pile of rags. “Come on, Miranda,” Andy cajoled, “the sooner you get into the hospital gown, the sooner they will give you drugs.”

“Isn’t there any sort of pain relief for this?” Miranda joked weakly, trying to distract both Andrea and herself from the discomfort of having to undress her admittedly ungainly, swollen body. They had given her two hospital gowns so as to provide better coverage, front and back, but Andrea paused after she had helped Miranda slip into the first one that was meant to tie around the front, unable to help from gawking at the uncovered beauty of Miranda, even in the throes of childbirth. The woman GLOWED, Andy mused as her gaze travelled over the pale expanse of hereto before unseen skin and heavy breasts. Good Lord, if Miranda was this attractive while in active labour Andy thought she might combust before they actually had a chance to do anything once Miranda was healed.

Miranda closed her eyes, cringing inwardly as she suspected Andrea was doing. This is what she had been afraid of all these months of all but living together with this young, beautiful creature…

“Really, Andrea, I shan’t be this large forever. You mightn’t forget that I am in the midst of birthing a child! And if you are so taken aback by the existence of a few stretch marks on a body that has carried twins and now this baby at fifty one…”

“Miranda! Stop!” Andy was taken aback at the sudden outburst but quickly recovered to give her own vehement repudiation. “You are so beautiful. God, you are so beautiful like this. I wish I’d known that that was the reason you would never let me see you when you undressed or touch you.” Brown eyes shone with equal parts sincerity and regret at the thought of the older woman being so self-conscious of the body Andy worshipped.

“I don’t find these lines or these marks disgusting, not at all.” She shook her head. “They’re like reading a map or the words of my favourite book that tell me everything about who you are and what you have done in life and as a mother for your children. I wouldn’t wish them away or erase them even if I could.”

“Well,” Miranda sniffed, not completely able to hide her shock and surprise at the direction the conversation had taken. “What is it that you want?”

“You, Miranda. Surely it’s obvious after all this time. I want you, to be with you, to love you, all of you – perceived imperfections and real ones alike. To get closer with Cass and Caro and to help raise your baby-”

“Our baby. This is our baby, Andrea,” Miranda protested vigorously, wanting the other woman to know how strongly she felt about this before her own doubt set in at the other woman’s lack of reaction at her outburst.  “Isn’t it? Without you, there would be no baby, Andrea. Of that much I’m sure. My God, when I think of all you’ve done for me throughout this pregnancy. This baby is as much yours as-”

Miranda was cut off as Andrea’s lips pressed against hers. “I love you, Miranda. You and your kids and your dog and this baby right here. Our baby…” She moved Miranda’s hands to the large bump that separated their bodies and linked fingers with the older woman so that they cradled the bulge. “So beautiful,” she whispered again against her lips.

“Is this what you want, darling? A middle-aged, thrice divorced workaholic with stretch marks and soon-to-be three children?”

“It’s so much more than I ever wanted,” Andy breathed before continuing to attack Miranda’s mouth, the pair only breaking apart as Miranda had her next contraction.

“You are so precious to me, Andrea,” Miranda gasped out once the contraction had ebbed, and she clung to the younger woman’s shoulders, knees weak from the labour and from the depth of emotion she felt at Andrea’s heartfelt declaration.

“I do love you, you silly girl. And by God, if you think you could love me and be a part of all this…” Her words were cut off by the arrival of a nurse and a subsequent contraction.

“Sounds like you’re just about ready to push, baby.” The plump, older Jamaican nurse remarked as she turned on the monitors and turned back the covers on the bed. “Let’s see if that little one in dere is ready to be born.”

Miranda was so utterly taken aback by this other woman’s complete lack of knowledge or interest, she didn’t know which, of who she was that she acquiesced without another word and dutifully lay back and let herself be strapped into the monitor.

“There now. He’s comin’ along just fine, you see? He’s not gon’ be in that belly for much longer now. You look like you in good hands wit’ya girl here. I be back wit Dr. Friedrichs in a minute.”

When Nurse Charlene returned with the doctor however, the scene they came into was quite different.

“Andrea, it’s quite simple. I will not push until you tell me we got the pieces in from the last advertisers.”

“My God, woman, you are infuriating!” Andy pushed back her bangs as she tried to remain calm, repeating to herself in her mind over and over that Miranda was probably in transition and so was prone to irrational behaviour in the last stage of labour before the baby was born. A niggling thought in the back of her mind though kept pushing through with the knowledge that this WAS Miranda they were talking about and the woman was probably as sane and in as much control of her actions as ever. Then she tried a different tack.

“Miranda, sweetheart, your baby needs you to push. _I_ need you to push. Can you do that for me?” Andrea swept back the sweat soaked strands from Miranda’s forehead, smiling as she saw a flicker in the blue eyes that made her think Miranda was about to give in.

Just then, Andrea’s cell phone rang and even in the throes of childbirth, Miranda raised an eyebrow and commanded her in a tone that brooked no argument, “answer it.”

“Goddammit!” Andy roared, stalking over to the other side of the room so the phone signal didn’t interfere with the telemetry connected to Miranda. “Shit, Emily! Not Now!” Andrea looked as though she wanted to hurl the offending item through the plate glass window but she bit down her homicidal urges and listened to the hysterical Brit on the other end.

“What? What is it?” Miranda was breathing heavily, recovering from the last contraction as she called over to the younger woman, who despite her disbelief at the absurdity of the situation, moved quickly back over to the older woman’s side, drawn like a moth to a flame.

Andy rolled her eyes in frustration, covering the mouthpiece. “They want to know if you wanted the orange and fuchsia overtones on the sunset harbour piece to only show on the Versace whites or to include the Pucci prints as well.”

“Just the V-(huff)er-(ugh)-saceeeee,” Miranda squealed, reaching out for Andrea’s hand once more and clasping it tightly to her as she sucked in great gasps of air during her brief respite from pushing while the doctor worked busily between her legs as Nurse Charlene helped to hold them back as the only person other than Andrea and the doctor that Miranda would permit to touch her.

“Got that? Great. Bye” Andy threw the phone in the direction of her purse and took Miranda’s hand which was reaching out towards her.

“N-need you, behind me,” Miranda muttered, pulling herself into an upright position so that Andy could sit behind her and Miranda could lean against her as she pushed. Oh and that felt so much better, Miranda thought as she melted into the strong body behind her and she felt cool lips press a kiss to the sweaty skin of her shoulder. “You’re doing so well, Miranda. Not much longer now. Our baby is so close, he’s so close inside you.”

“Get. Him. Out!” Miranda snarled, digging her heels into the bed and arching her back as she squeezed Andrea’s hands tightly in her fists.

“He’s almost here, Miranda. Just a few more big pushes like that last one and we’ll have him out” the doctor assured her.

Andy cringed and even Nurse Charlene tsked underneath her breath whispering “Fool man” as they saw Miranda gear up for what was sure to be a scathing retort.

“We? WE? Might I remind you I am the one through whose cervix this enormous infant is trying to pass or that your clumsy fingers seem to view as a battering ram? You are merely window dressing for the hospital’s insurance company! Oh God!” Miranda’s face was beet red and her teeth were clenched as she threw herself into the next push, continuing to spout vicious diatribe at the renowned surgeon sitting dumbstruck between her legs until she collapsed back into Andy once more, taking comfort in the strong embrace and the steady hands that applied deliciously firm pressure in all the right places and seemed to know when a cold cloth or fresh ice chips were needed almost before Miranda knew herself.

More foul language from Miranda, a near nervous breakdown from one of the other attending nurses and a final, bone-breaking push and Miranda slumped back, limp and sweaty but exultant as she heard the newborn’s cries and Andrea’s exclamation of joy and amazement as she moved to the end of the bed to watch in tearful awe as the newest tiny Priestly entered the world.

\---------------------

Nigel and Emily had come over once they had heard the baby had been born and that mother and son were doing well and were allowed visitors. Runway’s September issue had all but been put to bed and so they were able to sneak out for an hour before they had to head back as it went to press.

Nigel had had to run back over to the office almost as soon as he had arrived to sort out some sort of paper mix-up, but Emily had stayed and was hovering nervously in the corner trying to pump Andy for details about anything Miranda would need when she left the hospital when their conversation was interrupted by the object of their speculation.

“Get me Lucas,” Miranda’s voice drifted over, hoarse and exhausted, but awake from the hospital bed.”

“Who’s Lucas? Is he part of Meisel’s team? Or is he part of that ridiculous new PR agency DeMarchelier is insisting we book through now?” Emily hissed in a whisper as she swung her head around to look at Andrea.

Andy just chuckled tiredly, a beatific smile spreading across her features as she hoisted herself up from the uncomfortable recliner chair and made her way over to the other side of the room where small, squeaking cries could be heard coming from the bassinet.

“This is Lucas.” Andrea explained, picking up the tightly swaddled infant. “Hi sweet boy,” Andy’s lips ghosted over the perfect, miniature features which screwed up in an eerie replication of Miranda’s infamous pursed lips. Gently, she lay the baby in Miranda’s arms before helping the other woman to sit up against the propped up pillows in a comfortable position to nurse.

“That’s all, Emily. I trust that between you & Nigel you can handle any other decisions regarding the layout.”

“Y-yes Miranda,” Emily stammered out, in shock at the opportunity that had been so seemingly carelessly flung her way by the editor, who had just slipped her robe off her shoulder to feed the baby.

“I know you won’t fail me,” Miranda raised an eyebrow in the redhead’s direction before her gaze returned to the suckling baby in her arms, softening into an expression of unrepentant bliss.

Emily continued to stare, agog, at the editor, her brain seemingly having completely shut down and disconnected from the rest of her body.

Moving her gaze away from the baby for a moment, Miranda – even groggy and post-partum was able to effect a raised eyebrow that would have rivaled her best as she met her employee’s gaze and smirked before remarking:

“I assume that you’ve seen breasts before? If not, then I was greatly mistaken in my belief that your and Serena’s courtship was progressing fruitfully…”

Emily’s mouth continued to open and close like a fish out of water and Miranda chuckled slightly before returning her attentions back to the tiny, precious body she cradled against her own.

“Y-yes, Miranda. I mean, of course. I well, that is to say, yes, I…”

“Thanks Em, I’ll call you later if there’s anything else we need.” Andy ushered the stuttering redhead out, shutting the door behind her as she turned back to face Mirada, a smirk appearing across her own features now. “Miranda, that wasn’t very nice…”

Miranda shrugged, noticing Andrea’s gaze linger on the smooth expanse of shoulder the action revealed, before grinning wickedly. “I did just give birth, Andrea. Surely I can be granted some leniency in my interactions with the world.”

“Mmm,”Andy hummed wryly as she took the snugly wrapped bundle from Miranda, gently rubbing the now-full baby’s back to clear any air bubbles as she swayed back and forth.

“Ungh.” Miranda grimaced as she settled back down in the bed, a pale hand clasped in discomfort to the soft swell of what remained of her belly. “You’re carrying the next one darling.”

Andy startled, her grip tightening on the baby as her arms threatened to let go in shock.

“Geez, give a girl some warning Miranda!”

“Mmm, to quote Emily, ‘No. Shan’t.” Succumbing now to exhaustion and the somnolent lure of the drugs swirling around her system, Miranda let her eyes close, watching her two loves as they danced across the room and she waited for two of her other greatest blessings to arrive and meet the _two_ newest additions it seemed would be joining the Priestly household.

Andy smiled, a brilliant peace spreading through her body as she hummed her two loves to sleep, safe and well in her arms, with her other two loves soon to arrive from school to meet the newest member of the family. A million girls would kill for her job, eh? Well they could have it, Andy thought dreamily as her own eyes slipped shut and she rested her head against the back of the rocking chair. Because this was where she belonged, and damned if her size four ass wouldn’t fight a million girls to keep it.


End file.
